


Bend

by gigi_originally



Series: You Can Have It All (Tell Me What For) [1]
Category: Once Upon a Time (TV), Peter Pan & Related Fandoms
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Blow Jobs, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Filthy, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Sex on a Car
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-18
Updated: 2014-02-18
Packaged: 2018-01-12 23:28:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,057
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1204498
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gigi_originally/pseuds/gigi_originally
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>And do you wanna ride like a crusader?</p><p>OR</p><p>"Don't crash."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Bend

**Author's Note:**

  * For [gardenoftacos](https://archiveofourown.org/users/gardenoftacos/gifts).



> For **Tami** , because I cannot gift a Valentine to one Co-queen and not the other.
> 
>  
> 
> _Happy Valentines Day, Lemonami! Love you lots ~ Sonyapple_

Peter likes to fashion himself a king, likes to make the world bow to his will. With his good looks and boyish charm, he gets his way more often than not. Except in one thing.

With Wendy, he can make her writhe and twist, clench and scream, but he cannot get her to bow. She submits willingly in the dark of their bedrooms where he works her with tongue and teeth and cock until all she can feel is pure pleasure; until the line between pleasure and pain blurs into a puddle of colour and sensation. Peter bends Wendy's body every which way he wants to and she lets him -- lets him touch and pull, lick, suck and fuck her into oblivion. But he cannot bend her spine.  

She gives what she wants to and no more. And Peter, for all that he insists on power over everything else, savours her gifts for the precious endowments that they are. He knows that only asking nicely gets him more.  

This is not to say that Wendy is stingy with her the pleasure she gives him, only that she is far more controlled in her indulgences, far more selective about the ways in which she abandons herself to their ever-raging desires for each other. Mostly, she likes to surprise him -- remind him why no other girl will ever do.

The car ride is long and boring, tree after tree whizzing by as they make their way down the long, lonely stretch of motorway. The road is practically deserted, not another car in sight, only road signs to keep them sporadic company.  

It is late by anyone else's standards, the wee hours of the morning having found them still with the Boys at an underground party up north, but they are both wide awake. Peter sits with his wrist draped over the steering wheel, legs spread wide, cruise control on, utterly relaxed. He looks totally self-possessed and completely confident. With his sleeves rolled up, Wendy shifts again in her seat to temporarily relieve the insistent throbbing he creates between her legs.  

Her boyfriend is sexy and she definitely appreciates it.

To cool down she looks ahead at the vast expanse of asphalt they have dominion over in this moment and suddenly she has an idea. It's dangerous and stupid but, in this  emptiness, the only people who can get hurt are them. Wendy trusts Peter enough to know he won't let that happen.  

She wants to do this. She wants Peter _now_.

She fumbles in her purse as Peter changes the music. He's been blasting rap since they started driving but he changes it to something slower, with a deeper baseline and lyrics meant to entice. It would do the trick well if Wendy wasn't ahead of him.

Her bag yields the elastic band she was searching for and she starts pulling her hair up into a messy ponytail. Peter glances over at her, eyebrow raised because he knows how much she likes the feeling of the wind and her hair whipping against her face on rides like this.  As an answer, she tilts her head to accentuate the long line of her neck and arches her back so her breasts jut forward against the confinement of her seatbelt. Peter takes this all in with a grin and slow lick of his lips.

However this plan of hers goes, she knows he's going to be inside of her before the sun rises.

She waits until his eyes are back on the road before quietly reaching over the center console and trailing her hand down his side and into his lap. She reaches for him, for the warm bulge of his crotch, and cups her hand firmly over his cock. His eyes glance down as she moves her fingers slowly across the denim before darting over to her face. The expression he wears tries to be wicked but hovers between curious, hopeful and disbelieving.  

Wendy has never done this before.

Of course she has sucked him off. She's taken him into her mouth, into her _throat_. She's let him kneel over her and fuck her face; leaned her head back over the side of the bed and gagged on his thrusts. She has let him come all over her face, let him paint her lips with his cum. He's never given her an _actual_ pearl necklace but she won't complain.

(Peter makes her feel wild and wanton and adored, like a princess and a porn star all at once.)

Under her hand, Peter hardens rapidly as she works at his belt and zipper with expert fingers. She like to fumble for show sometimes. She knows he likes it when she plays the innocent ingénue for his corruption. But there are times when she is all temptress -- as talented as he is at seduction --  and he bows to her in those moments, a supplicant to a queen.  

It takes a little adjusting to free him from the confines of his jeans. Then, all it takes is one click and her seatbelt comes undone easily. At that, Peter finally talks into the tension between them, his music having stopped and fallen ignored.  

"Bird, what--?"

"Shh," she tells him as she turns sideways on her seat, hand back on him, stroking gently as warmth and friction build between their skin.  She glances around at the absolutely empty highway then bends in half in one swift motion and flicks her tongue out to lick the pre-cum from his tip. His hips jerk harshly but the car remains admirably steady.  

Peter groans out loud and Wendy can feel the rush of wetness dampening the fattening lips of her cunt.  

She works spit into her mouth then opens and swallows as much of him as she can reach. Her ass rises off the seat as she tilts forward to get at more of him around the obstacle presented by the gearstick. He's hot and stiff in her mouth and she sucks hard on him, tongue working along the length of him as she moves her head slowly up and down making sure to get him good and wet.

She draws back to readjust a little -- she wants to feel him in her throat. Her panties are already ruined and she can feel them uncomfortably moist as she shifts. When she looks at him, his eyes are wide, mouth open and he's panting already, knuckles white around the steering wheel.

_Good._

She leans forward again, a hand pumping him up and down as she presses a hot, open-mouthed kiss on the hinge of his jaw. He smells of boy-sweat and that amazing cologne he uses. She wants to lick all of it off of him. Instead, she puts her mouth to his ear and instructs him, "Don't crash."

Then she lowers her head and licks a broad stripe along the length of him. Above her, he curses incoherently a refrain of, "Fuck, Wendy, _fuck._ "

There is a power in what she does, an aphrodisiac of control even as she pleasures him, because he is at her mercy. Peter Pan, the great and powerful, putty in her...mouth, such is the case. She likes to make him come undone.

But there is also the purely physical enjoyment she gets from sucking Peter off that she thinks might be unique to her. Wendy likes the feel of his cock in her mouth, the weight of it on her tongue. She likes the smoothness of it as it slips along the softness of her lips and length of it in her throat. She likes to push herself, every time, to see how deep she can get him. She likes the feel of his velvet skin against the insides of her cheeks.  

She takes him all the way in, over and over, until his hand clenches around her ponytail and he all but rips her off him.  

" _Stop_ ," he rasps and he looks wild-eyed and only half-sane. She rarely gets him like this and she knows it means he will fuck her until she passes out. She can't wait.

"Fuck, Bird," he starts but can't seem to finish. " _Fuck_."

She smirks, licks her reddened lips and stretches her aching cheeks in a winning smile. Hand still working furiously at his cock, the whole thing still slick with her spit, she answers him breathlessly, "Yes please, Peter."

They take the next exit. He pulls into his garage within ten minutes and she's spent all of them with her lips working his head as he tried not to come for the traffic light cameras. Even before the garage door closes behind them, he's pulled her into a sloppy kiss that tastes of Peter and more Peter.

She breaks away, feeling playful, and hops out of the car. He follows immediately, fly still undone, and grabs her as she makes her way around the back of the car. He spins her around, bends her over and shoves the little skirt she's wearing up over her hips.

"You're such a tease, Wendy-bird," he rasps against her ear as he pushes her underwear aside and drags the tip of his cock along her soaked netherlips. She moans as he dips just the tip inside her then up and down the length of her slit. He does it over and over and keeps _talking_.

"You're so fucking sexy," he says slipping in and then out of her immediately. She tries to push her hips back, to pull him inside her, but he's in control now. She's had her fun.

"Tell me what you want," he commands with his hand fisted in her hair and his head working in and out of her. She can't speak, she can only pant and moan, but he says, "If you don't tell me what you want, I'll leave you like this. You know I will. You can still suck me off if you want to."

"Fuck you," she manages to gasp against the cold metal of the trunk.

Peter leans over her, the whole length of his body pressed against her back and his breath hot against her ear. She can feel the roughness of his jeans against the backs of her thighs as he aligns himself with her dripping cunt. Her muscles throb in anticipation, she's literally aching for him, clenching around the phantom of his hardness in the hopes of release.

"That works," is all her says before he sinks into her. Her flesh parts for him like water, like silk, and she comes immediately.  

He stills, lets her ride out her orgasm on his cock, until she's flat and limp and gasping. His hand is gentle in her hair and along her hip. He strokes the skin with love then, suddenly, his fingers tighten. He grips her hard enough to bruise (it won't be the first or last time she wears the tattoo of his fingers in purple on the swell of her hip) and her head jerks back as he sets a brutal, desperate pace.  

He fucks her hard and fast, the metal of his jean fly digging into the soft skin of her thighs with each thrust and she doesn't care. She cants her hips up and rocks back to meet him, moaning and screaming when he hits a spot inside her that makes her see stars. Her heels are terrible tools for gaining purchase on the smooth concrete floor of the garage but between Peter and the car, she's well supported for when her next orgasm starts to build and her legs start to shake.

She tightens around him and he bends down to tell her, "Scream for me, Wendy. Scream my name with that dirty mouth."

Then his fingers are drawing rough circles on her clit and she comes _hard_. She screams and Peter swallows it in his mouth, his tongue reaching into her for the last syllables even as he spills inside her, hot and deep and gratifying.

She blinks back to awareness slowly, the metal under her cheek suddenly icy in the morning chill. Behind and on top of her, Peter stirs. He doesn't pull out but kisses her temple with the kind of affection he only ever shows her.

She smiles at the press of his lips and whispers, "Happy Valentines Day."

 


End file.
